The Choicest Gift of Heaven
by Katie Duggan's Niece
Summary: Fanfic based on Jane Austen's Persuasion and written in response to LadyKatherine's Period Drama Challenge of November 2009. Autumn has come to Bath, and a mysterious stranger arrives, unsettling the Elliots and all their acquaintance. In progress.
1. A Dull Afternoon

Besides providing the usual disclaimer -- I am NOT Jane Austen, nor do I play her on television -- I must say this story was written in response to LadyKatherine's latest Period Drama Challenge, and is duly based on an Austen novel (**Persuasion**, my favorite) and contains the required elements: a box of chocolates, but no Forrest Gump; a cat; and something scary.

I'll admit to fudging (Insert groan here) a bit on the chocolates, as I'm not sure anything but drinking chocolate was known in England during the Regency period. Our poor, deprived ancestors!

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_A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more; here was that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself, which was from nature alone. Jane Austen, Persuasion_

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_....there are those who have, either by conscious decision or unconsciously, learned the secret of survival. Paul Vigyikan, Seizing Life's Second Chances_

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**Chapter 1: A Dull Afternoon**

It was raining again, but then it always rained in Bath. So Mary had learned.

She had been fairly beside herself with joy when Charles had first proposed this excursion. Autumn at Uppercross had proven so very dull, and her sisters-in-law provided her no diversion at all. If anything, they had grown a good deal more tiresome since their respective marriages, with Henrietta's frequent letters containing little beyond reports on the furnishing of the parsonage, and whether the chickens were laying regularly, and Louisa, who had of late complained of feeling unwell, drawing an undue degree of attention towards herself, for the most joyful of reasons, as Mrs. Musgrove never failed to remind them all. One should think no other woman had ever been in like circumstances! At times it seemed to Mary that no one at Uppercross spoke of anything but what name the child ought to be called, and how soon his papa might return from the sea. It was all very tedious, to say nothing of indelicate.

Mary had therefore been very happy to quit her home when Charles, for once displaying proper regard for her health and spirits, had suggested their little family repair to Bath, where they might see her father and eldest sister, and as well enjoy the diversions and delights the city afforded.

The promise of amusement in Bath, however, had proven very empty indeed, and Charles himself less attentive than his proposal might have suggested. Indeed he was always gadding about after some pipe or gun or other thing that a gentleman might want, and leaving Mary to her own devices.

Moreover since Anne's marriage he had been brought a great deal into the company of sailors, and pronounced them as fine a group of fellows as he had ever known. Indeed Charles never tired of their stories, nor of their hearty, frank manner of speaking, and it had been a trial to Mary's patience to be forever sitting across the card table from some vice or rear admiral, or greeting the same in her own sitting-room. At least Charles had not proposed a journey to the seaside; that she ought to have been unable to countenance.

Her father and Elizabeth had proven rather more helpful, and indeed on occasion brought her out into company, and presented such opportunities for amusement as she condescended to accept. But they neither of them had ever paid much attention to Mary's delicacy of health, and as a consequence at times neglected her, preferring some tedious concert or lecture to an hour spent in her society.

Anne was _a little_ kinder and, being as regular in her habits as a clock, called upon her sister once daily, at the very least, and as well sought her company on her frequent walks. It was most indelicate, given Anne's condition, that she should as yet remain so wild for walking, and Mary privately believed that her sister-in-law Mrs. Croft had proven a most unwelcome influence in that regard, and counseled her to embrace the hardships and privations of a sailor's wife.

But then Anne had always had, as their father observed, the most extraordinary taste. She accepted the society of Captain Wentworth's brother officers, of their wives and innumerable children, with never a complaint, and as well continued her most unseemly intimacy with the pitiable Mrs. Smith, a widow past thirty, whose once considerable wealth and health remained as yet only partially restored.

Father and Elizabeth had quite given Anne up for lost, at least in regard to her preferences, and believed she should never distinguish herself by her family connection to the nobility of England and Ireland.

That was not to say that Anne did not, on occasion, make herself useful. This afternoon she had taken the little boys for a walk, and had very nearly persuaded Mary to accompany them. It was such a fine day, indeed quite remarkable for November, and a walk ought to prove refreshing. But Mary had declared herself too unwell to join them, and in the end counted herself the wiser for her refusal, for after their departure the rain had begun, and Anne and the boys had no doubt been forced to seek shelter.

Of course Mary remained snug at home, albeit with nothing but **The Castle of Otranto** and a box of very good confectionery from Molland's for company. Now she had no particular fondness for novels, but where else might she find diversion, when so wholly abandoned by her sister and husband?

Still, she hoped that Anne would be unselfish enough to remember to bring another box of dainties from Molland's, if indeed she and the children had taken refuge there during their walk. No doubt Anne would seek to distract the children with all manner of sweets, and their dinner should be quite spoilt, but it would be too unkind to forget Mary, who could not stir out of doors.

Just then there was a noise from the hallway. Perhaps Charles had returned, or perhaps Anne and the little boys were back from Molland's, if they had indeed spared a thought of going to Molland's. _That_ should be very timely, as Mary had eaten nearly every morsel in the box beside her.

She closed her novel and arranged her shawl carefully about her shoulders, then quietly opened the door and made her way down the stairs. The hallway was quite empty, and so she proceeded to the sitting-room, and opened the door.

A massive figure, perhaps over six foot tall, and broad of shoulder, stood with his back to her. The man turned round, and all at once Mary beheld his countenance clearly: a heavy brow, furrowed but by no means marked by advanced age, and below that -- below that --

One eye. The stranger had but one eye.

A shriek escaped Mary's throat.

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_To be continued..._


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

The following was inspired by Jane Austen's **Persuasion**, and was written in response to LadyKatherine's Period Drama Challenge of November 2009, and according to her guidelines. All characters are Jane Austen's, save an invention or two of my own.

Many thanks to my readers/reviewers, especially Solo Lady and theHuntgoeson, and to LadyKatherine for the inspiration in the first place. I take any and all comments very much to heart.

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_"There__ is hardly any personal defect which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to." Anne Elliot, Persuasion_

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**Chapter 2: An Unexpected Meeting**

"You might have spoken of it to me, Charles," said Mary later that afternoon, after Anne had returned with the children from their walk, and the Musgroves' visitor had taken it upon himself to escort Mrs. Wentworth safely home.

"My dear, I had not expected to meet with Captain Webb as I walked out today," said her husband earnestly. "Nor did I know that you had remained behind. The boys were nowhere about, and I trusted you had all gone with Anne."

"I am not well enough to go walking, Charles," replied Mary with a sniff. "Especially when it is so disagreeable out of doors."

"It was a fine enough day when I took my leave. Indeed it is uncommonly pleasant for November. Why should you not take some exercise?" asked Charles, somewhat impatiently.

"It is my sister, not I, who prefers to spend the afternoon in such a fashion," said his wife. "The children cannot be kept always in-doors, and Anne is better able to bear their noise than I, especially as it is not she who must check them every moment of the day."

"Still, you might have gone with them. It ought to have done you great good."

"And yet, for all that everyone had deserted me," continued Mary peevishly, "I was expected to entertain Captain Webb myself."

"You were not five minutes in his company before I returned! Besides, I told you that he was in Bath, and that we might expect him to call upon us. Indeed, did not Frederick speak of it in his last letter?"

"My brother-in-law may have written something of the sort," allowed his wife. "But I am sure he gave us no account of Captain Webb's countenance and person."

"My dear, it is not uncommon for a fellow who has seen action to return wounded, perhaps forever altered in appearance," said Charles quietly. "One ought to honor such a man, not flee his company."

At the words Mary colored slightly. "I was perfectly civil to the poor captain. He can have no doubt of his welcome here."

"The boys certainly liked him," said her husband, smiling to himself. "Walter asked if he might come to Uppercross at Christmas. "

"Did he indeed? I heard nothing of it. He ought to have spoken to me first!"

"And Charles asked him if he'd fought pirates," said Charles, chuckling.

"Pirates!" said Mary. "I do not know where the children got such notions, or learnt to pose such indelicate questions."

"I suppose you mean regarding how Captain Webb lost his eye --"

"Please, Charles! Must you speak so bluntly?" said Mary, shuddering.

"I expect Webb is used to it. And he took no offense; you saw as much. He is a good fellow, Mary, and Frederick says you'll not find a braver man."

"Does he indeed? Well, I expect my brother-in-law knows the truth of that. Surely they served together, or some such thing, and he is accustomed to Captain Webb's company."

"'Accustomed to'? That seems to me not such a very hard thing to endure, my dear. He is a most capital fellow, and I should like to know him better. I expect we shall see a great deal of him while we are in Bath."

"Shall we indeed," replied his wife, her voice suggesting resignation, rather than pleasure, at the prospect.

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The rain had stopped now.

Puss should be glad of that; she did not like water in any fashion, not that she had much cause for worry, comfortably settled as she was in a very large basket. Of course it _was_ awkward to carry, but there was no other manner in which the cat could accompany Mrs. Rooke on with her visits to patients who might be cheered by the sight of such a fine creature.

The experiment had begun when Nurse Rooke tended a child, fretful at being kept in-doors, and greatly frightened by physicians. She had soothed the little girl with talk of resting as cozily and contentedly as a cat, and spoken of Puss, and how happy she always was to sleep before the fire, or beneath a sunlit window, and indeed seemed wiser and more at peace than many a soul in Bath! Of course the little girl had wanted to see such a thing for herself, and so Puss had made her first journey into society, that she might amuse the child, who, though she remained in delicate health, was now much improved in spirits.

After that there had been other other patients, such as the charming little German lady, Frau Seitz, who fairly clapped her hands with delight at the sight of the cat, and called her _Mietze_, and stroked her orange fur. Of course Puss was as amiable as she was handsome, and seemed pleased enough herself at such attention.

And then there was the poor old major, who now and then suffered pains within his chest, but always bore them manfully. He ought to have kept a cat or a dog himself, for company, but was much reduced in circumstances, and moreover stirred out of doors less frequently than he had been used to doing. But when he sat by the fire with Puss on his knee, and talked of past times, Nurse Rooke could well see the handsome, brave soldier he had been in his prime.

Today she was on her way to see Mrs. Smith, who was no longer an invalid, though she _had_ been, for a good long while. Mrs. Rooke had tended her too, when there had been need, but now that her health was to some degree improved and her circumstances in similar condition, she had not forgotten her former nurse's kindness, and maintained their amiable friendship.

Yet even now Mrs. Smith did not often go out of doors, and had but little acquaintance in Bath. So it was that Mrs. Rooke meant to call upon her this day, and bring Puss as an additional source of diversion.

She was very near to Mrs. Smith's new lodgings -- by no means fashionable, but much preferable to Westgate Buildings -- and had paused for a moment in preparation to cross over the street when she recognized that something was amiss. The cover of the basket had become loose, and Puss had pushed her head free of confinement.

Her body did not take long to follow.

Mrs. Rooke fairly cried out as the cat leapt from basket and darted across the street, just as a landau was approaching.

"Stop! Oh, Puss!" And the nurse shut her eyes at the terrible prospect.

When Mrs. Rooke dared to look again, the carriage had passed, and Puss was nowhere to be seen. She had escaped, then, but to what refuge?

A tall man in a naval uniform was standing at the other side of the street, and looking down at his feet. Mrs. Rooke followed his gaze, and saw that Puss had found him, and was brushing against him in a decidedly friendly manner.

By the time Nurse Rooke had come safely over the street, the man had bent down to stroke the cat's back.

"Do forgive me, sir," said she, curtsying before the officer. "Puss escaped her basket before I might stop her, and I fear she has been very forward."

The man smiled down at her. Heavens, he must stand six feet tall – or more, likely enough. "That is a most handsome animal," he said pleasantly, then bent down to lift Puss in his arms.

Mrs. Rooke smiled in response, taking her first proper look at the man's countenance, and at the hair beneath his hat. Perhaps Puss had thought him a near relation, for all that her fur was a good deal brighter than this officer's red hair!

"Now then, you must cause your mistress no more worries," said the man, placing his quarry inside the basket. But he smiled as he offered the admonition, and Puss seemed to feel no ill will towards her captor.

"I am most obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Rooke, fastening the cover of the basket, and bowing towards the officer.

"It is nothing, ma'am," said he, bowing in reply.

Mrs. Rooke did not look back at the officer after they took their leave of each other, and she made her way again towards Mrs. Smith's lodgings. Still, it should be impossible to forget such a person, even among the bustle of Bath. Such a tall, manly figure, so broad of shoulder and red of hair. Alas -- poor man! -- he'd a patch over one eye.

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_To be continued…_


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